Memory Box
by Roxal
Summary: Oh, a Memory Box? Did your son give this to you? Warnings: None. Status: Oneshot. [Nevillecentric]


This is my first _Harry Potter_ fic, so go easy on me, I suppose. It was a thought I had while reading this particular scene, and it stuck with me. It's a bit sad, yet sweet at the same time. If it is possible, download the song _'Stella by the Moor'_ by Yoko Kanno, or '_Memory_' by The Seatbelts and listen to it while reading. Either will do as the song the Memory Box plays. And this fic has virtually no Neville in it at all, but it is centered around his actions, and his love for those close to him. I'll start out with a few lines from the book, just so you'll know where I am. (p. 515)

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"Well, we'd better get back," sighed Mrs. Longbottom, drawing on long green gloves. "Very nice to have met you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now…"

But as they left, Harry was sure he saw Neville slip the wrapper into his pocket.

The door closed behind them.

"I never knew," said Hermione, who looked tearful.

"Nor did I," said Ron rather hoarsely.

"Nor me," whispered Ginny. 

They all looked at Harry.

However, just as he opened his mouth, Neville's mother had wandered back up the ward toward them where the Healer was straightening the sheets of an unoccupied bed. The older woman turned around and smiled warmly at her as Alice held out a reddish-brown wooden lacquered box toward her.

"What's this, dear?" said the Healer sweetly, taking the box from her hands. "Oh, a Memory Box? Did your son give this to you?" 

Alice nodded her head, smiling vacantly as the Healer opened it. A sweet, calming melody drifted from the box to the four teens' ears. Drawn to it, they gathered around the short woman. 

Harry looked into the box and noticed it was much like a jewelry box, but instead of a mirror on the inside of the lid, there was something like a small television screen, playing a blurred scratchy movie over the red velvet interior. Harry's curiosity got the better of him.

"Excuse me, but, what is that?" said Harry as politely as possible.

"This?" said the Healer, indicating the wooden box she was holding, "this is a Memory Box. You haven't seen one before?" Harry shook his head, but Ron spoke up quietly.

"He gave them a Memory Box?" said Ron slowly; almost so lowly that Harry had to strain to hear him.

"What does a Memory Box do…?" asked Harry, now feeling as if he were intruding. 

The Healer sighed wistfully, noting Harry's confused expression.

"A Memory Box is much like a Music Box, as you can tell," said she, showing the box to him more clearly as the melancholy melody played on, "But instead of playing only music, it plays a memory as well. The witch or wizard giving them removes a memory from their mind and places it in the box so that the recipient may watch it whenever he or she pleases. They are beautiful, and also exceedingly rare…" 

"Why is that?" said Harry, becoming even more confused. "They seem extremely thoughtful. Wouldn't people want to give more of them?"

"Because once the memory has been removed, the witch or wizard giving it cannot get it back," said Hermione, speaking for the first time in a while. Her tone was flat yet oddly reminiscent.

"What? Why not?" 

"It's like the pensieve, Harry. When a memory is outside of your mind, you cannot personally recall it. But with the pensieve, you can get it back. When a memory is placed in a Memory Box, it is sealed in forever," said Hermione softly.

Harry looked at her for a moment in awed amazement, then looked back into the small box at the screen. 

As the music played on, Harry saw what must have been one of Neville's earliest memories, and perhaps the only good memory he had of his parents. 

A one-year-old Neville was being bounced on his father's knee, giggling happily, as his mother, still bright and cheery, sat clapping beside them. The screen flashed, and Neville was crawling across the floor to a brightly colored box his mother was holding. His father was trimming the Christmas tree behind them. Again the image flashed, and both Neville's parents were holding him and singing. Harry then realized that the song the box played must have been the lullaby they sang. The screen flashed and the memories started over again, playing in a continuous loop. 

Harry stared blankly ahead of him for a moment, and then looked back down to the end of the ward where Neville's parents were laying, looking idly around the room. His heart tugged.

"That must be… his only conscious memory of them," said Harry quietly.

"What do you mean?" said Ron, wheeling around to face him.

"Dumbledore told me but I promised I wouldn't mention it… that's what Bellatrix Lestrange got sent to Azkaban for, using the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds," he said, shuffling his feet. "He must have been only a year old," he added quietly.

"Bellatrix Lestrange did that?" whispered Hermione, horrified. "That woman Kreacher's got a photo of in his den?" 

Harry nodded silently as the others stared at him, at a loss for words. It was eventually decided that they would leave to find the Tearoom, and they walked out almost hurriedly. Harry lagged behind, however, and shot one last look down at the two beds at the end of the ward. 

"I'm so sorry, Neville," he whispered almost silently before walking out to join the others.

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Uh, so how was it? Good? Bad? Completely OOC? Review, please! I may edit it if people give me tips. Thanks! 


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